


Waiting for Goodbye

by Cantatrice18



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, One Shot Collection, POV Minor Character, Vignette, lucissa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 09:13:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7751827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cantatrice18/pseuds/Cantatrice18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four brief looks into the life of Narcissa Malfoy, and the family she loves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Fall

The ornate silver clock that hung over the hearth ticked steadily, its sound muffled by the green velvet curtains and medieval tapestries that hung throughout the sitting room. Outside, a bright sliver of moon turned the bare autumn trees into claws reaching to the sky. Seated at the hearth, barely two feet from the flames, a young woman stared expectantly into the fire. She had pale eyes and even paler hair, her skin corpse white against the black silk of her gown. From the richness of her clothes and the sparkle of diamonds at her earlobes, it was clear she was not accustomed to sitting by fires in the dead of night. And yet she remained, motionless and staring, as the clock ticked mercilessly onward, perhaps hoping that sheer force of will alone could make the flames deliver the answer she sought. Midnight struck without a change in her expression, then one o’clock. The fire had burned to embers before a sound made her jerk around, staring wildly at the door. As the silver clock struck the half hour, a man entered wearing an emerald green cloak and an expression of elation. At the sight of him the woman staggered to her feet, but before she could move further the man was at her side, pulling her close, his arms wrapped firmly around her waist as he kissed her. “Acquitted”, he murmured as they broke apart. “Cleared of all charges.”

“How?” The woman’s voice was hoarse, as though in her long hours of waiting she’d lost the power of speech.

“A good lawyer, that’s how,” replied the man. “That, and information the Ministry wanted to know. There will be many more for Azkaban because of me, I’m afraid.”

“It’s worth it,” the woman whispered, leaning against him and resting her head against his breast.

The man smiled, running his fingers through her long hair, so like his own in color. “Utterly and completely”. He looked around searchingly. “Where is he?”

“In bed for hours now. I—we didn’t know—” The woman trailed off. For the first time, her eyes began to fill with tears. “Oh Lucius, you were gone so long, I was afraid…”

“Let me see him. I won’t wake him.”

The woman hesitated, then nodded, taking her husband’s hand and following him through the darkened halls until the reached a heavy oak door. The man raised his free hand and the door swung silently inward to reveal a child’s bedroom decorated in green and silver. At the far side of it, a boy slumbered peacefully in a gilded crib, his tousled white-blonde hair falling over his face, his thumb tucked firmly in his mouth. The pair embraced once more, watching in silence as the little boy slept on. Finally, the woman spoke. “When you didn’t return, I couldn’t help imagining what would happen to us, to Draco. I couldn’t bear the thought of raising him alone.”

“You’ll never have to,” her husband replied. “We’re a family, now and forever. Nothing can change that.”


	2. Rebirth

A long, ornate table, its wood polished mirror bright, stood in the center of an otherwise spare room. Two figures sat, one at each end, the space between them lined with empty high-backed chairs. Atop the table, an array of sumptuous dishes fit for a feast lay barely touched, their aromas melding pleasantly. The woman at the far end of the table picked absentmindedly at her food, her thoughts elsewhere. Across from her the man froze, his fork raised halfway to his lips, wincing in pain. His knife clattered against the embossed silver plate and the woman jumped, startled from her reverie. “What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing,” the man replied, setting his fork down and pushing his plate away.

“Why are you lying to me?” The woman’s pale eyes were sharp as she surveyed him. “You know I can always tell.”

The man looked toward the window, where the smallest traces of green had begun to return to the trees. His pale face wore a closed expression, his eyes narrowed slightly in concentration. The woman stood abruptly. “Stop it,” she commanded, lips tight with anger. “You’ve been shutting me out for months now, and it’s only gotten worse. Lucius, listen to me!” Abandoning her place, the woman walked swiftly down the line of chairs until she stood at the still-seated man’s side, too close for him to ignore. “I’m your wife. I deserve to know.”

“It’s nothing,” the man repeated, “a mere twinge.”

The woman watched him silently, and the man made the mistake of glancing up into her face. His eyes caught hers and held, unable to look away. As though drawn by some irresistible force, his right hand caught the hem of his left sleeve and drew it back to reveal his forearm. The woman gasped, staring at the twisted red design that shone upon his fair skin. With trembling fingers, she traced the image of a snake winding through a skull. The man inhaled sharply at her touch, but did not pull away. “How long has it been like this?” she asked, her voice hushed and frightened.

“It’s gotten steadily darker for months. I don’t know how long exactly, it’s been so gradual I hardly noticed. It’s only in the past few weeks that it’s been hurting.” Seeing her expression, he shook his head. “Not like that. Just a quick sting, nothing more.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered.

“I suppose I didn’t want to bother you with something so vague. I didn’t want to worry you.” He took her hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. “There’s no way of knowing, yet, what it means.”

“Do you think he’s back?” The woman seemed to grow even paler than usual at the thought, her eyes wide with fear.

“No, I don’t. But he will be.” The man eyed the red marks on his arm before shaking his sleeve back down to cover them once more. “There’s nothing more to do now. For the moment, we can only wait, and plan.”


	3. Discontent

Snow fell softly over the manor grounds, blanketing everything with a fresh, unsullied carpet of white. In a high tower room a pale woman stood alone, staring out a floor length window at the iron gate just visible in the distance. She was dressed in a simple black silk negligee and a robe of silver spiderweb lace that did nothing to dispel the winter chill, but she appeared not to notice the cold. The room around her had a strange, unused quality. Half the bed was still impeccably made, and only a single candle shone through the half darkness. The room itself seemed to be waiting. On the bedside table lay a single sheet of letter paper, the Malfoy family crest still visible on the broken seal. An eagle owl feather lay beside it, an unknowing souvenir from the bird that had delivered the news. Her son would not be coming home from school this winter. A part of her knew he would not be coming home at all, except by some miracle of luck or chance. Her husband remained entombed in the North Sea prison that had held so many of his brothers-in-arms over the past fifteen years. Her home, once a sanctuary from the outside world, now played host to Dark witches and wizards whose crimes put those of herself and her husband to shame. The Dark Lord himself sat in her husband’s chair, while she was shunted aside, a guest in her own house. The grey sky outside muted the sun’s wintery beams as they cast a pale glow over her face and body. This room was her final refuge, a place that was hers, for now at least. Every memory of how things once were seemed encapsulated within the four tower walls: the drawer where she kept all of her son’s letters, dating back to his first year away at school; the jewelry box where precious tokens of her husband’s affection lay in glittering strands; The silver-framed picture of her wedding, the figures smiling innocently out at her, unaware of the turns life would take. She clung to the memories with an intensity that consumed her, even as her eyes searched the road leading to the house for a cloaked traveler, tall and blonde, who might have somehow found his way home.


	4. Light and Heat

A blinding flash of light filled the forest clearing, forcing the group of hooded wizards and witches backwards in shock. As the spots cleared from her vision the woman could see the Dark Lord lying prone on the leaf strewn ground, his strange red eyes shut, an expression of pain twisting his unnatural features. For a moment she thought he might be dead, and the idea filled her with agonizing hope. If only he were gone, they might have a chance to be together once more. She glanced back to where her husband stood, ashen and glassy eyed, separate from the Death Eaters that crowded around their fallen leader. In all the confusion, perhaps they might get away, might be able to hide in the forest until the time was right to enter the castle themselves. If there was a chance her son was still alive, she had to find him. The thought of life without him opened a gaping void within her, a dark pit from which she knew there could be no escape.

A loud bang echoed in her ears, accompanied by a jolt of pain that ran through her body from head to toe. She cried out in surprise and anguish, biting her lip to stifle her own scream. The Dark Lord was speaking to her. “Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead.”

The woman looked around until she spied the body of a young man lying spread-eagled on the forest floor. She approached the body with caution, feeling the eyes of the Dark Lord and his followers on her as she moved. Kneeling by the body, she paused, her hands hovering an inch from his chest. He was the same age as her son, as dark as her own boy was fair. A now-familiar pang of fear and grief hit her as she leaned over the body, her fingers brushing his black hair from his forehead, revealing a scar shaped like a bolt of lightening. Her long white-blonde hair fell forward, shielding her from the onlookers, as she shifted one hand to rest over his heart. Beneath her palm, undeniable, a steady pulse beat once a second. The realization set her own heart racing. The boy was alive. For all his skill, the Dark Lord had failed once again to kill Harry Potter. Barely daring to hope, she bent until her mouth was inches from his ear. “Is Draco alive?” she whispered. “Is he in the castle?”

She waited with bated breath, eyes locked on the boy’s parted lips. “Yes,” came his whispered reply. The single word threw her emotions into turmoil. Her son lived, but he was in mortal danger, surrounded by enemies on all sides. She had to reach him, she would reach him, even if she were forced to battle a hundred wizards, dark and light, in the process. It didn’t matter anymore who won and who lost. All that mattered was her family.

Sitting up, she turned to face the watching crowd. “He is dead,” she called out. The confidence in her voice fooled them all, for she felt none of the familiar tugging in her mind that she’d come to associate with legilimency. They had no reason to believe she might betray them at this final stage. Her eyes went to her husband, still standing a stride length apart from his cheering and gloating fellows. He would help her, that she knew, when the time came to search for Draco. For now she could only place her trust in the Potter boy to distract the Dark Lord long enough for her to find her son. As far as she was concerned this war was finished. All that remained was to reunite the family that had been torn asunder for so long. Together they could face whatever happened next.


End file.
